


Birds of a Feather

by window_to_the_soul



Series: Mating Season [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Fluff, Injury, Mating Cycles/In Heat, ornitology!AU, this is all Kristin's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-11 05:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20148229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/window_to_the_soul/pseuds/window_to_the_soul
Summary: Selene liked her neighbor, like, 75 % of the time. He took care of Mr. Whiskers, he was nice and a little silly. And now he was lying on the floor, white as a sheet, and looked about ready to die."You're an idiot," she said.





	1. Mating Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KristinStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristinStone/gifts).

> Somebody stop me before something like this ever happens again. I'm looking at you, KristinStone.  
Alphas are like birds. Why did I think this was a good idea again? It started out with me thinking that, hey, we talked about this whole "Alphas showing off their nest-building-skills on twitter". And it was all downhill from there...

She was barely awake when the mating season started. Selene walked into the kitchen, half-stumbling over yesterday’s shoes left scattered on the floor, wishing she hadn’t stayed out until ass crack of dawn. The sound of the gurgling coffee machine and the scent of freshly ground beans drew a tired smile to her lips, and when the white cup was filled to the brim and she’d half inhaled everything, the singing started.

It was actually kind of nice – or it would have been, if the singer hadn’t horribly botched the conjugation of his French verbs. Mr. Fergus had a lovely singing voice, and a knack for beautiful lyrics, but no idea about French grammar. Also, at three a.m. she doubted any of the other people living in Margot Street liked being woken up. Selene sighed, rubbing her eyes. It was too early for this shit. Too early for mating season. Too early to be awake, definitely. She opened her window, and the lilting melody grew louder. It would have been dreamy. Had it not been three in the bloody morning.

“Arthur! Art, shut the fuck up!” The singing paused at her yelling, and a mop of brown hair shoved itself out of the first-floor window opposite hers. The two houses were mirror pieces of each other, and it let Selene see into Mr. Fergus’ kitchen, as much as he could see into hers.

“Lene! You’re awake?” He was wearing… Selene closed her eyes. It was too early for this. Arthur Fergus, CEO of one of the biggest enterprises in the city, was wearing a silver tiara on his head. And as her eyes travelled along the little bit of his body visible through the window, there was a skin-tight red suit with black lines criss-crossing it that looked oddly familiar. She squinted.

“I am. And is that… are you wearing a Spider-Man costume?” Arthur Fergus looked down at himself, then beamed. 

“Yes! What do you think?” It is too early for this, her mind mocked. Selene sighed softly. 

“I think that French verb was mutilated.”

“Oh.” Art looked crestfallen for a moment. Selene grabbed her coffee cup, only to realize there was grey fur now gently drifting in the dark brown liquid. And of course the beverage was still too hot to try and fish it out. “Which one?” 

“Well, first person plural of exactly no verb should end on –ez, and also, why is the girl you’re singing at raining?” He frowned at her, eyebrows twitching low.

“Raining?” he repeated. 

“You were trying to form the future simple of pleuvoir, right?”  
There was a moment of silence, then rigorous swearing.

“It should’ve been pleureras, right? But then it won’t rhyme anymore!” 

“Look, maybe you should stick to English?” Selene shook her head. “And to a more reasonable time, while we’re at it. Mating season has barely started, who could you possibly be serenading at this hour?” It was going to be a long day, she could feel it in her bones. A very, very long day. 

“I sold five tickets, Lene! It’ll work out for sure this time.” He sounded quietly hopeful, and Selene really didn’t have the heart to tell him there was probably no Omega around that would fall for someone wearing a tiara and a Spider-Man costume who botched his French verbs. At least no Omega with half a brain cell. On the other hand, maybe his nest looked nice? She’d never bothered to check. Besides, it would have felt like an invasion of his privacy. Still…

“Isn’t five tickets a bit excessive for one day?” she asked. She’d known Alphas who got sent to the hospital after three. Five tickets was the legally permitted maximum per day, sure, but she didn’t feel good about the whole thing. 

“Aw, do you worry for me? Maybe you should come check out my nest for yourself, sweet cheeks.” Selene put her cup down with a little more force than necessary. 

“Yeah, no thanks,” she snorted. He could really never take anything quite seriously. “I kinda have to work. You know, making sure none of you dancing idiots die while displaying and all that shit?” 

“Oh come on! You had wonderful tips last year. And I even kept the theme this time around. I built the most beautiful hammock-nest. You really should – ” Selene grabbed for the window.

“I really don’t,” she said, and added a soft smile when he looked down. Displaying Alphas were a sensitive bunch. “You get ready for those Omegas that will come visit you, okay? I have some free time  
tomorrow, if you haven’t found a nice girl I’ll come have a look.” She hesitated before pulling the window down and leaned out once more. “Promise you won’t behave like an idiot, okay?” Art sighed.

“Promise.” 

Selene pushed the window down and went to prepare food for her grey tom cat. The lithe animal was already sitting in front of his bowl, and she filled it promptly, scratching his ears absent-mindedly. Arthur was nice. During mating season even more so than usually – to a degree that she could barely believe what the papers made him out to be: Ruthlessly competent and someone not to trifle with. She shook her head. Still though, a hammock-nest? Knowing him, he had probably decorated it with spider webs. How a man so utterly clueless about women ever hoped to attract an Omega was beyond her. After having fed Mr. Whiskers, Selene slung her backpack over her shoulder and made for the door. It was the beginning of May, of mating season, and she was going to have one hell of a stressful day.

~

When she finally returned home around five p.m., almost two hours after her shift had officially ended, Selene felt about ready to keel over. Three Alphas on the first day, and the head nurse had mentioned how that was only the beginning. Three exhausted men, down to a point where they could barely even keep their heads up, called in by concerned neighbours, wives, relatives. She didn’t want to know how many of them ended up dying alone because they didn’t have the money – or the friends – to check up on them. It was a depressing thought.

Most people enjoyed mating season. The Alphas could be prompted into displaying at the drop of a hat, presenting elaborate dance routines, showing off acrobatic skills or poetry or any kind of artistic skill they might possess. Omegas wore their little gifts proudly, bits of colourful cloth or expensive watches or jewellery. Most Betas could at least be prompted into a smile by an Alpha’s compliments, or they gossiped about the nests displayed on Twitter and Instagram and Pinterest and facebook. 

Selene, and her fellow nurses, however, knew the sad truth: For every Alpha that sold a ticket to that one Omega who would chose to stay and become his mate, there were three who got taken into the hospital. Pale-skinned, dehydrated, weak beyond belief by the mere fact that they absolutely needed to impress someone into letting themselves be claimed. The police worked overtime as well: Jealous Alphas would break into houses to steal nesting material, pillows and cloth and blankets and trinkets. And even though she may have been an Omega, Selene really didn’t want to be mated to someone like that.

Instead, she locked her door, frowning for a moment when she caught a glimpse of Art opening his door for some drab-looking girl, and went to hide in her bedroom. Her own nest was a simple affair, just heaps of blankets stacked on top of each other, with a little opening in front to build a soft, warm, and safe cave. And of course, Mr. Whiskers was already lying in there. He was easily convinced to shift so they could both fit, and Selene closed her eyes. 

“Alphas are the worst,” she muttered and rubbed along the grey tom’s flanks. Mr. Whiskers started to purr, a gentle rumble against her skin that always made Selene relax. She leaned back against her blanket-wall, inhaling the familiar scent and letting the exhaustion drip into her bones and her consciousness.  
She was almost asleep when a loud crash made her startle. She stuck her head out of her blanket fortress and frowned. Where had that come from…? On one hand, she really didn’t want to get out and face the world again. On the other one, she was a nurse, and that sounded like someone could have hurt themselves. 

“Fuck, Mr. Whiskers,” she whispered and climbed out of her nest to pull on proper jeans. Looking out the window, she saw that some of the other people living in her street had also come out, and a car was driving away quickly. Had there been a car crash? Selene had her first aid kit in hand and was out of the door before she even consciously had made the decision to. Whatever it was, she was going to help. That was her fucking job. 

“Mrs. Smith-Grande? What happened?” she called out when she caught sight of the elderly lady living in the ground floor of the building next to hers. The woman wrung her hands nervously.

“Oh, thank gods Ms. Maddock. I think something happened up there!” She pointed towards the first floor window. “That poor Mr. Fergus has been displaying all morning. Don’t you have a spare key?”  
Selene nodded and handed Mrs. Smith-Grande her first aid kit. 

“Hold this,” she instructed. “Try and see if Art will respond if you call out!” And she raced back into her own house, fingers shaking. She had told him. She had absolutely told him to not overexert himself. Five tickets! She should’ve… Selene grabbed the spare keys to his apartment she had for when he was out on business trips and she watered his plants. 

“Ms. Maddock! He’s not responding…!” Mrs. Smith-Grande looked pale. “What if something’s really wrong?” Selene put a hand on her shoulder.

“Calm down, Mrs. Smith-Grande. Deep breaths. You’re not going to help anybody if you start hyperventilating now. I have the keys,” Selene dangled them in front of the old woman and pressed them into the lock. “And I’m a nurse. Now, if you could get me some cold water?” Being able to help somehow usually calmed people down, and her neighbour promptly left to do as she was told. Selene opened the door.

The hallway looked like something exploded in there. Thin, silken threads hung from the ceiling in some kind of weird curtain, and there were red and blue pieces of cloth draped tastefully over every available surface. For a moment, she was so shocked she could only stare. Holy hell, had Art really decorated like this? Her heart gave a painful lurch. He really had taken her words from last year to heart: Not overdoing it (or at least not overdoing it so much), and stuck with a theme. Too bad it was Spider-Man, instead of something an Omega would probably enjoy. Though she had to admit that it was so very – so very him. It fit him, in a way. Aaand she had absolutely no business staring at his home like that when he could be dying somewhere. Stupid hormones.

Selene opened the door to the living room. It did have several little hammocks, all just for one person, and they did look like they had been spun from spider silk. But she was a lot more concerned with the man lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Art!” Worry coloured her words as she sank down to her knees next to him. Her fingers found a steady, if a lot too fast, pulse. He was pale as a sheet, his fingers were shaking, and he couldn’t seem to focus on her when she waved a finger slowly in front of his eyes. “Arthur, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” Slowly, he blinked, and even slower, his head turned a fraction of a degree. His eyes flickered over her but remained glassy. 

“S’tha’ you, Lene?” Oh thank god.

“Yes, it’s me. Didn’t I tell you to not overdo it? Just in the morning?” He grinned, but it looked slow and painful.

“But she said she’d come back t’morrow, Lene – said sh’was.. she was gonna… she gave me…” His fingers twitched to the left, and Selene saw a single pink piece of cloth. A necktie, maybe, or a scarf.  
Again, her heart thumped against her ribcage. 

“The Omega gave you that?” A sign of affection, then. Good, that would mean he didn’t have to display that way – that much – ever again. 

“Yeah, sh’was nice. Not you, but, y’know, nice.” 

She was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, but in that moment Mrs. Smith-Grande came in with a water pitcher, and Selene forgot all about talking and focused on getting some water into Arthur. 

“Can you help me get him into bed?” Selene asked the older woman, and together they pulled the Alpha to his legs. 

“Wamme to dance for ya, Lene?” 

“He’s delirious,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want you to dance, you idiot.” Mrs. Smith-Grande only nodded, and when Selene had managed to pull open the bedroom door, she gasped and stopped. The entire bed was just gone, replaced with the biggest, most comfortable looking hammock-slash-air-bed she had ever seen. It was woven, again, of white silk, suspended some fifty centimetres over the ground by four huge wooden pillars. There were pillows on it in all shades of silver and grey, and blankets in a deep red. She could feel the urge to climb in and never leave. 

“Ms. Maddock? C’mon, we have to get him into his… hammock… thingy.”

Mrs. Smith-Grande’s voice was like ice water over her dazed mind. Selene shook her head. Some kind of help she was, fawning over a nest while her friend was about to collapse from utter exhaustion. She pulled, and Mrs. Smith-Grande pushed, and somehow they got Arthur into his nest. 

“I’ll go get some food for him,” Selene announced. “Can you make sure he drinks the rest of that water?” She had to get out of there. She absolutely could not stay in that room. Not when all she could think about was crawling into that stupid spider-nest and cuddle Art until they were both feeling better. Not when he had an Omega coming by tomorrow, one that had given him a token of her affection. It was both unprofessional and stupid. 

The kitchen felt a lot safer, even when she realized that there was barely any food here that would help get Arthur back on his feet. She made some broth and added what little vegetables she could find – she would have to remind him to get proper food soon. Thinking of how he had looked at her, eyes glossy, made her sigh. Yes, she was probably going to have to get the food herself. There was no way an Alpha that far gone was able to provide for himself. Shit.


	2. A nest for an Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selene really should have seen that coming

Selene woke with a start, and for a moment she had absolutely no idea where she was. A second of panicked looking around, and the thought Why aren’t there any silver pillows here where’s Art? Raced through her head. Then she recognized her own pillows, her own scent, and her frantic heartbeat slowly calmed down. She looked at her cat, disgruntled at having been woken, and picked him up to look at his face. 

“Shit,” she told the grey tom. “Shit, shit, shit.” Mating season sucked. It wasn’t fair that her mind should play tricks on her like that. She didn’t need a fucking Alpha, and least of all one that dressed in a Spider-Man costume and wore tiaras. It was ridiculous, her hormones going crazy like that over a hammock, of all things. “Though it did look super comfy,” she told Mr. Whiskers, how meowed at her in annoyance. She put him down and padded towards the kitchen wearing nothing but an old, faded sports t-shirt.

There, she realized what had woken her despite the early hour. Serenading. Oh gods, hadn’t she suffered enough already? Selene closed her eyes to listen for just a second, to check if the verbs were correct this time. A small smile tugged at her lips as she realized that yes, this time, the conjugation was sound. And it all still mostly rhymed, too. The smile vanished when she looked at the clock above the kitchen counter, and Selene groaned loudly. 4 a.m. On her free day. She slammed open the window. 

“ART! SHUT UP!” And like the day before, his window came up. Selene gasped. Arthur Fergus did not look well-rested. He had dark bags under his eyes, his tie was askew, his hair a mess, his skin even paler than yesterday. 

“Ah, Lene. You’re awake?” His voice was scratchy. Selene narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m coming over,” she told him. “I’m bringing breakfast. And something for that throat of yours. When does that Omega arrive?” He frowned at her for a moment. 

“No, you can’t come over,” he said. Selene stopped in the middle of assembling a fruit mix for cereals. 

“What do you mean, I can’t come over?” Art shook his head.

“Your scent was all over my place yesterday. The last Omega didn’t even show.” She sighed.

“The last Omega didn’t show because I had Mrs. Smith-Grande call her, you idiot,” Selene said. “You were in absolutely no shape to be displaying, and from the looks of it still aren’t.” She picked up her spare set of keys. “But since I won’t be able to stop you, I can at least make sure you don’t die from all your dancing and singing.”

“No, Selene, please. You can’t bring your scent in here.” She narrowed her eyes and squinted out of the window. 

“You know what? Fine. I have scent suppressants here. Now shut up and go sit down somewhere.” She resolutely ignored the cold pit in her stomach at being forbidden from coming over. The Alpha just didn’t know what he was saying. No Omega was bothered much by the scent of an unmated other woman in an unmated Alpha’s house, otherwise there would be no point in selling more than one ticket per day. She filled a glass with water and downed one of the scent suppressants anyway, then left the house to wander over to Art’s. Mr. Whiskers mewled at her and followed. The old softie was probably just as worried about his second food-provider as she was.

~  
When Selene tried to open the door, she found it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t that her keys didn’t work, but more like…

“Art, move away from the other side of that door right now.” She could hear his grunt when she shoved with all her strength, but he didn’t move.

“No,” came the resolute answer. “You can’t come in, Lene!”

“Why the shit not?!” she demanded. “And don’t try and sell me that bull about my scent scaring off other Omegas. That’s a lie and you know it.” Art on the other side of the door stayed quiet long enough that Selene tried opening the door again. Nope, still standing there. 

“Lene, please. I can’t… I … not with your scent in here.” 

“What are you getting at, you idiot of an Alpha?” she asked. There were tears now prickling at her eyes. Was she really that repulsive? It hadn’t bothered him during the last mating season. She frowned. Or had it? Now that she thought back… no, it had been her first mating season spent at the hospital, and she had worn scent suppressants as well. It was a requirement for all new nurses. Art sighed. 

“If you don’t want me to display, you had better stay outside.” The words were quiet and soft, and she only heard them because her ears were practically pressed against the door.

“Art, I’m on suppressants. You can’t smell shit on me right now. Can you? Go ahead, inhale.” I dare you, Selene didn’t add. There was another pause.

“Oh. You’re really wearing them? I thought you hated ‘em.” 

“I don’t hate them,” Selene replied. “It’s just that they make me antsy. But you in that condition is way worse than a little discomfort on my side. Now open that bloody door, or I’ll throw Mr. Whiskers through your open window.”

And finally, the door opened. Cautiously, Arthur peeked out, then sniffed in her direction. His frowned, sniffed again, then nodded.

“Okay, you can come in.”  
Selene shouldered past him and stopped again. 

“Art,” she said, very slowly, “where did all the spider stuff go?” Because the hallway held little blue, round lights on the walls, and red and golden pillows were stacked in the corners that certainly hadn’t been here yesterday.

“I re-decorated. The Omega said she didn’t like Spider-Man much.” His face showed what he thought of that. Selene frowned. The red and gold… blue round lights… 

“And you decided Iron Man was the better choice?” 

“People think Tony Stark is hot, don’t they?” Selene threw her hands up.

“People think Tony Stark is hot, don’t they?” Selene threw her hands up.

“Have you seriously re-decorated the entire house in one day?”

“And for most of the night,” Art admitted, and she winced. 

“Sit down, now. And before that girl arrives, you are getting more sleep. Off to the bedroom.” He winked at her, but it looked tired.

“Ohh, I like it when you get bossy.” She pushed him towards the bedroom.

“I’m making you cereals and tea. You will have breakfast. You also will catch at least half an hour of sleep before that. Off, now.”

She closed the door behind him, resolutely not looking at the nest he’d built. Instead, Selene went into the kitchen, followed by Mr. Whiskers, who immediately demanded treats. While her cat happily munched on some spare cat food, Selene herself made coffee for herself and Art, and then began cutting the apples and bananas she brought. Assembling a little breakfast really didn’t take much time, so she suddenly found herself with more than 20 minutes left before she would have to wake the idiot of an Alpha in his bedroom.  
Selene busied herself with washing the dishes first, then inspecting his fridge, but neither could distract her properly. She found herself wandering into the living room, where yesterday there had been Spider-Man-loveseats. Today, she found lights in the shape of the arc reactor that made for a scenic atmosphere of indirect lighting, and red and golden cloth woven around the curtain rods. More pillows, arranged so that they formed a semi-human-looking form on the sofa, a fluffy version of the Iron Man suit. And little figurines of a guy in blue with a shield, a lady in all black, the Hulk, and another guy with a huge hammer. Selene smiled. Art really didn’t do things halfway. She flopped down on the sofa.

She would just relax here for a moment. The pillows weren’t arranged quite right, though. Selene picked them up before she realized what she was doing, and put them on one of the sofa’s armrests so that she could lean against them while simultaneously half-burying her head inside the makeshift half-nest. There, better. Now, if only she never had to leave here…

~

Arthur woke up feeling content and soft and warm. The scent of coffee greeted him from the kitchen, and when he left his bedroom, he found Selene, fast asleep and in a nest she had built herself out of his Iron Man pillows. She was smiling softly in her sleep.

Arthur went over to the phone, as quietly as he could. Picking it up, he dialled a number he had thought he would need to memorize.

“Yes, hello, this is Arthur Fergus,” he said to the woman on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, but there’s really no point of you coming back today.” He smiled at Selene, who scrunched up her nose and buried deeper into the pillows. “My Omega has built herself a nest in my living room.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not Sorry. Also, Happy Birthday!


End file.
